


The Saga of Number 08

by Beware_The_Ravenstag, nev_longbottom



Category: The Martian - All Media Types, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-12-18 04:15:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18242201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beware_The_Ravenstag/pseuds/Beware_The_Ravenstag, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nev_longbottom/pseuds/nev_longbottom
Summary: Mark quickly types out a response, name, rank, and a desperate plea for NASA to copy.KLAUS CUT IT OUT.Mark replies. WHO ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU? THIS IS MARK WATNEYSURE ‘MARK’. TELL POGO THAT BASE CAMP WAS MOVED TO CROMMELIN....and now for the story of one man's determination to get off Mars and one family's struggle to keep it together. This is the Umbrella Academy's arrested development.





	1. The One Where Luther Won't Leave

**Author's Note:**

> For the timeline's sake, this takes place BEFORE Vanya's book and The Gorrilla Incident.
> 
> beware-the-ravenstag, dancinbutterly, and I were up at 1 am talking, as we do, about what would have happened if Luther had been sent to Mars instead of to the Moon and Mark Watney was there. This is the result. Somehow, it turned into Arrested Development. I regret nothing.

**HARGREEVES MANSION, SIR REGINALD’S STUDY**

Maybe it’s his long term exposure to the Academy that’s left Reginald unfortunately attached to these children. It’s appalling. He can actually feel the mild stirring of empathy for Number One, lonely now that all of his fellow experiments have left the nest.

It’s distracting to watch Number One mope around the townhouse. His long silences start to unnerve Reginald. It’s almost as though without his siblings, Number One is without an identity. An unfortunate yet unavoidable side effect of breaking him while he was young.

Reginald knows he planned this. He had always intended to send the experiments out into the world to gain their own sense of self before the apocalypse, or they would be useless. They needed some toughening up before they could make an effective team against the whatever abomination had destroyed the timeline.

The only trouble is, Number One isn’t leaving. He had ignored the college applications Reginald had left lying around, as well as the trade school registrations. Reginald has even resorted to _ordering_ him to leave, and yet Number One still returns several hours later, with a report on the vigilante duties he has conducted.

This leaves him with no other choice. He must send the boy on a sham of a mission in order to give him a sense of purpose.

“Pogo,” he yells, “Pogo, have the children’s ship repaired. I’m sending Number One on a mission. He should have two months worth of rations to start. Hopefully he’ll take the hint.”

The simian nods from his position by the door. “Very good, Sir. Where will he be going? I’ll notify NASA.”

Reginald scoffs. “Bah, don’t bother me with the details. I think Mars will be best. The moon is too close,” he says with a shudder, “he might come back on weekends.”

Reginald starts to record information and scowls when he sees the papers on his desk flutter. “And close the damn window. What if the neighbors hear?”

“Yes sir.” Pogo says, and moves to close the window.

* * *

   **HARGREEVES MANSION, KITCHEN**

Luther is halfway through lunch when Dad barges into the kitchen, clearly irritated. “Number One, I’m sending you on a mission.”

“Dad,” Luther says, “I’m the only one left. You can just call me Luther.” He gestures at the mostly empty kitchen.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Dad snaps, “Number Four was here two days ago.”

Luther had to give him that. Klaus had been there two days ago to shower, change, and steal anything small of value before Pogo could stop him.

“Focus, Number One,” Dad says, voice softer this time. He taps his cane on the ground. “You will be leaving to Mars to set up a base camp and conduct vital research.”

Luther draws himself up, nodding. “Yes, sir, I won’t let you down. What kind of research is it?” He asked.

Dad frowns at him, and glares at him through the monocle. “Vital.”

He leaves just as suddenly as he’d entered, leaving Luther alone to finish his sandwich.

* * *

  **PARIS, FRANCE**

Allison’s on the set of Inception doing reshoots when the assistant tells her she has a call from her brother during their first break of the day. She rolls her eyes and makes her way to the phone in the back end of the lot.

“Klaus, please stop calling me for Barry’s number. He’s been bailing you out for years, you should have memorized it by now,” she chides.

“Hi, Allison,” Luther says, “It’s me, Luther.”

Allison turns away from the set and curls her finger in the telephone cord. “Oh, hi,” she says, feeling warmth on the back of her neck. “Sorry about about that. You know Klaus.”

“Yeah,” he says. There’s a comfortable silence when she closes her eyes to listen to him breathe over the phone. “I just wanted to let you know, I’m going to be out of touch for a while.”

“Mission?” she says, sour note in her mouth. She hates that Luther’s still with Dad, going on missions, but she’s never been able to talk him into leaving. She’s tried telling him to get out before, but every time she does he just goes out to do vigilante stuff and then calls to tell her about it.

“Dad needs me to do research on Mars. I leave tomorrow.” There’s a small moment of hesitation, then he says softly “I’ll miss you.”

Allison smiles, “Yeah,” she replies, “I’ll miss you too. I should get back to work. Love you.” She tries to make the words sound as tender as she can.

She hears Luther sniffle over the phone. “I love you too.”

She hangs up the phone and stretches her arms before heading back towards the set.

“So how’s Patrick?” her assistant asks.

Allison frowns. “Who?”

“Weren’t you on the phone with your husband?” she asks. “I don’t think you’ve talked to him or Claire in months.”  
  
Allison laughs. “Oh no, that was my brother.”

She walks back on the set feeling light headed and refreshed, and misses the odd look her assistant sends her.

* * *

  **MANHATTAN SCHOOL OF MUSIC, NEW YORK**

“Vanya,” her roommate, Felicia Hardy tells her as she paints Vanya’s toenails, “This is an intervention. You have to get out more. It’s ridiculous. All you do is study and practice- sometimes you even sleep in the practice rooms!”

Vanya tenses as a familiar shame coils in her stomach. She’d messed up again, she always messes things up. She reaches for her meds to take a pill, and Felicia passes her a water bottle without saying anything.

“Please, Vanya, As your friend, I’m begging you. Join a club! Make friends. Try, I don’t know, bowling,” she suggests. “The music department is hosting a mixer. We should go! We can leave after thirty minutes if you’re miserable.”

Vanya knows she can’t say no. She’s never been able to say no, but she’s surprised that she doesn’t particularly want to.

Felicia’s been a surprisingly great roommate and an even better friend. She’s never asked Vanya for anything before this. She nods shyly and tries not to fall over when Felicia lets out a squeal of delight and throws herself at Vanya for a hug.

* * *

  **NASA: HOUSTON, TEXAS**

“Check this out, Venk,” Teddy Sanders throws a pile of papers on Venkat Kapoor’s desk. “You know that crazy billionaire that adopted like 20 kids?”

Venk looks as the absolute mess of papers covering his lunch burrito. “Bruce Wayne?” he says, exasperated.

“No the other one. The asshole with the sweatshops and the proprietary tech,” Teddy flicks an invisible piece of lint off his impeccable blazer. “Hargreeves. His attorneys filed a flight plan showing that he plans to send a ship to Mars tomorrow.”

That catches his attention. Venk has his fingers in every privatized company trying to pull of space travel and as far as know, the only companies with anything close to space travel were Luthor Corp, Wane Enterprises, Stark Industries, and Rasal Inc, and those companies were all miles behind NASA, the PRC, and the USSR.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Venk says, reaching for the papers. “We already have the Aries 3 expedition and we have the funds and plans for Aries 5. When is this bastard going up there? Where does he expect us to put him?”

Teddy points down at the flight plans. “You should really read that. Apparently the kid is leaving tomorrow...and he’s set to arrive 32 hours later.”

Venk grabs the stack of papers and starts to skim them. This has to be wrong- there’s no way anyone could keep something like this a secret for so long. He flips through the papers and has a sinking feeling of dread. “Does the press know about this?” he asks weakly.

Teddy shakes his head. “No, not right now, but once we log the information it becomes public knowledge. We are a public, government funded facility.”

“Lose these papers for a few months,” Venk says as he fishes his burrito out from under the stack. “Direct any calls about this to my office. We need the Aries mission to be a success before the press catches a hold of something like this.”

He bites his lip. “Fuck, we’re going to want all hand on deck to make sure this goes smooth. Wasn’t there someone requesting a transfer to this project? That diversity hire? Get them on this.”

Teddy nods.

* * *

  **HARGREEVES MANSION, LIVING ROOM**

Klaus lets himself into the Mansion, finding it actually empty for once. No Luther, no Dad, no Pogo. Something about the way the empty silence hangs in the room like a physical presence unnerves him, so finding Grace about to dock at her charging station is almost a relief.

“Klaus,” Grace says warmly, “Welcome home. May I offer you a hug?”

Klaus shudders. “I’m good.”

“Take the fucking hug,” Ben says flatly, “Mom’s trying to be supportive.”

Klaus sighs loudly and holds out his arms. “Sure thing, Mommy dearest,” he says, and silently curses Ben.

Grace had always made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Klaus can sense the dead and the living and he knew, without ever being told, that Grace was put together wrong. She was more like the things that Ben would channel than anything else, and he could never understood how Ben loved her in spite of it.

“Your father and Pogo are seeing Luther off. He’s going to Mars to do research,” she says brightly, once she has let go.

Klaus grins. “How long are they gone?”

“They’ll be back in a few hours. Luther will likely return in two to four weeks to pick up supplies and drop off research samples.” Grace tilts her head. “I’m sorry, dear. I need to charge. Do you need anything before I go?”

Klaus shakes his head. “Oh no,” he says, already trying to think of what he can get away with pawning. “Me? I’ll be fine.”

She nods, knowingly. “There’s soup in the pantry and Pogo hid your father’s silver in the crawl space under the stairs.” She reaches out to run her fingers through his hair.

Her fingers feel cold.

“Please tell everyone to come visit,” she says softly. “It’s too quiet without you.”

Klaus waits until she’s docks and no longer processing input before he crows out, loud enough to echo through the halls.

“Klaus, would you at least eat something before you do this? Please?”

Klaus feels a brief, stabbing feeling of guilt. No wait, that’s indigestion. “See, that sounds nice but heroin sounds a lot nicer.”

Klaus digs around in the crawlspace until he finds the heaviest thing he can sell and takes off running to the closest pawn shop, knocking over their five year old neighbor without a single regret.

* * *

  **99th PRECINCT: BROOKLYN, NEW YORK,**

“How can you spend money on that rag?” Yamaguchi asks Beaman, gesturing at the newspaper with his coffee mug. “It’s all wall street stock and depression.”

Beaman pulls the paper down just low enough that Diego can see his disappointed expression. “So I can be educated about current events instead of being a savage like you.”

Yamaguchi gestures a second time, this time splashing a little coffee on the floor. “Look at the Headline. ARIES 3 MISSION FAILURE, AREA MAN DEAD. It’s all doom and gloom, Right up, Hargreeves.”

Diego shakes his head, holding up his head. “I don’t really do that.”

Beaman gives Diego a flat look. “You don’t what, read?”

Diego does read. Diego reads approximately three to four romance novels a month. In fact, Diego is still tired from staying up all night to finish Nicholas Sparks’ latest masterpiece. “Nope,” Diego lies, “Newspapers were Ben’s thing.”

“Oh my God,” Yamaguchi says, looking horrified, “they killed the Hargreeves who could read.”

* * *

  **MANHATTAN SCHOOL OF MUSIC, NEW YORK**

Vanya is counting the minutes until she can leave. The second they arrive at the ballroom, a pack of beautiful people had surrounded them and managed to separate Felicia and Vanya.

She’d been having a good time with them, at first, but when she slipped away to the restroom, she couldn’t help but overhear a couple girls in the restroom talking about how Hardy and Hargreeves had used their money to buy their way into the school.

It’s nothing Vanya hasn’t heard before, but she recognizes the voices from the group that she’d been socializing with all night.

Vanya takes it as her cue to try to slip out the backdoor, only to find herself on a balcony instead of the exit. A trio of men on the balcony look up from the circle where they are passing a joint.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she says, ducking her heard and turning back.

“You wanna hit?” a voice calls out. “You look like you’re having a rough time.”

Vanya turns around slowly.

The guy offering looks a little familiar. She tries to think of the last time she met a guy with wild blond hair, a birthmark splotch under his left ear, and long, calloused fingers. A small rat peaks its head out of his hoodie pocket and squeaks.

“Hartley?” she asks, feeling cheerful for the first time that night. Hartley had been at all a bunch of the fundraisers Dad had dragged her to as a fill in for Pogo. His parents were one of those old families that seemed to be involved in everything.

“The one and only,” he grins. He then sweeps her up in a hug and introduces her to his friends, Dennis Prowell and Johnny Tran.

Vanya’s night is finally looking up. 

* * *

  **MARS, SPACE**

Mark Watney finishes entering message for the Pathfinder and crosses his fingers. Pathfinder gets its power and message sending ability from HAB and with HAB offline, there’s nothing to pick it up.

Except, a message does come in.

KLAUS, IS THIS YOU? THIS ISNT FUNNY.

Mark quickly types out a response, name, rank, and a desperate plea for NASA to copy.

KLAUS CUT IT OUT.

Mark replies. WHO ARE YOU? WHERE ARE YOU? THIS IS MARK WATNEY

SURE ‘MARK’. TELL POGO THAT BASE CAMP WAS MOVED TO CROMMELIN.

Holy shit. Holy shit, it’s the Hargreeves Expedition. Mark had checked their camp location and found nothing more than a few posts on the ground and some scorch mark. He had assumed that the Expedition had packed up and left. NASA hadn’t been able to give him any information.

If they had switched locations to just a couple days travel away then Mark-

Mark is going to be able to rescue himself.


	2. The One With Mark's Piracy

**HARGREEVES EXPEDITION BASE CAMP, MARS**

Luther is about to take a bite of his sandwich when he hears the hiss of the airlock.

Well, that was sooner than expected. Luther still hasn’t figured out if it was Klaus or Diego messing with him earlier, but he’s pretty sure that Pogo wouldn’t let them near the communicators if he was in the house.

He glances at the calendar.

Huh. He isn’t due for another supply run for another two months. If Pogo was coming for a visit, then there must be some kind of emergency.

Fueled by a desperate kind of excitement, he leaves his sandwich untouched on the plate and hurries back into his bedroom to change into his mission uniform.

He’d never complain, of course, but his Martian expedition is not quite as… well, active as he’d hoped. An emergency could be just the thing to prove to Father that he was better utilized on Earth.

As he dresses, Luther hears clattering the kitchen; cabinets banging, the fridge opening and closing, and then the hiss of a soda can opening. He goes back into his main living space, expecting Pogo’s kind face-

\- and stops dead in his tracks.

There’s a blond, scruffy stranger at his table crying as he eats Luther’s sandwich and drinks a bottle of Sprite.

Luther doesn’t think he knows what’s going on.

The stranger turns towards and lets out a moan.

Now Luther’s really sure he has no idea what’s going on.

“This is a weird sex dream but fuck it. I’m dead. Is this what Martian heaven is like? Food that’s not potatoes, drinks that aren’t water, a hot twink in a school uniform...” The stranger wipes the tears off his face, and he looks at Luther like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Um,” Luther says, shifting his weight between his feet. “Did my father send you?”

“That’s a weird question to ask, but hey, maybe Mars God is the father of us all,” the stranger says through a mouthful of half-chewed sandwich. He takes another long sip of Sprite, shivering visibly with pleasure before turning his sights back on Luther. “Please tell me there’s a bed?”

Luther steps back wordlessly and gestures towards the back.

The stranger stands up and practically skips towards the bedroom, pausing only long enough to grab Luther by the necktie and pull him along. “The names Mark Watney, first Martian and I’m going to eat you alive. You down?”

Luther, who is quite lonely and has critically low standards stemming from a low self-esteem, says “Okay,” and follows him.

As soon as Luther is close enough, Mark throws himself at him, kissing him forcefully as they fall onto the bed and the door swings closed.

* * *

  **NASA: HOUSTON, TEXAS**

Mindy Park won’t stop crying. “I just got the data records back from Daisy. He’s gone from the camp and HAB is down. The most recent satellite images show him moving west towards the middle of the Crommelin, towards the Hargreeves Expedition,” she sobs.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Venk curses, “Was that an option? Has that always been an option? We’ve been begging Hargreeves to help Mark Watney for weeks!”

Mindy shakes her head dejectedly. “The rover doesn’t have enough battery to get him there. He has no way of knowing where they are. We can’t exactly send him vector projections for how to get there with our current long range communication capabilities.”

Teddy snaps his fingers. “He could do it if he cannibalized the power from HAB and rebuilt the battery.”

Mindy stops crying. “What? Is that possible.”

Venk throws his hands in the air. “I guess! If any asshole is going to pull this off, it’s Watney. When was your last message from him?”

The door opens, and what appears to be a small child walks through, looking thoroughly irritated.

Teddy shoots Venk a preemptive glare before he can curse out the child, and indicates that he’ll deal with it. He stands and crouches in front of her- he thinks he read somewhere that you should make yourself the same size as a child so that you don’t frighten them. Or was that dogs?

“Hey, sweetie, are you lost?” Teddy asks, practically gritting his teeth to conceal his frustration.

She gives him a flat look, crossing her arms. “That’s an offensive this to say to someone with dwarfism. Do you want to say something else I can report to HR?”

Abashed, Teddy awkwardly stands up. Venk looks at the woman expectantly.

“We just got a message from the returning Hargreeves Expedition. They are requesting air clearance to land,” she says, handing him the binder. “There’s only one passenger on the manifold: Luther Hargreeves.”

Venk buries his face in his hands, letting out a low groan.

“Are you kidding me?” Teddy demands, and then punches the wall when the woman nods.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do,” Venk says, after giving it a few moments of thought.

And then he tells them.

* * *

  **MANHATTAN SCHOOL OF MUSIC, NEW YORK**

Vanya is practicing a relatively complex piece. Something classical, probably, and highly cultured. But no one likes classical music in real life, and it’s pretty boring to read, so let’s move on.

* * *

**LOBLAW PUBLIC RELATIONS FIRM, NEW YORK**

NASA notifies the Hargreeves’ public relations team of Luther’s untimely return almost immediately, perhaps hoping that their good deeds would earn them access to the Hargreeves Spaceship Reserve.

Frantically, they attempt to reach Mr. Hargreeves’ personal assistant, the only person they know has direct contact with him at all times. Unfortunately, Mr. Pogo doesn’t pick up his phone, leading the team to curse and start frantically looking for anyone else.

Ms. Allison is unavailable to her filming location, Mr. Diego is not at the precinct and isn’t expected for to return for three more days. An intern reminds them of Ms. Vanya, but when they try her cellphone, she doesn’t pick up.

Finally, out of options, they attempt to call the main line for Mr. Hargreeves. They don’t expect him to answer- he’s never answered in the many years they’ve been working for him. Many of the newer members of the team don’t believe he exists.

The phone rings and rings and rings, then rings some more. They’re finally about to hang up, when, unexpectedly, someone picks up the phone.

“Hello?” says the reedy voice of Mr. Klaus, “Is this the government?”

“No,” says Lisa the sarcastic intern, “it’s your conscience.”

After they wrest the phone away from her, they explain the delicate predicament of Luther’s early return, and the position the abandonment of Mark Watney puts them in.

“We advise that you be there to meet him when he lands,” says Leonard, “to field off any questions that he might be… unequipped to answer. Can you do that?”

“If you’ll just let me check my calendar,” replies Mr. Klaus. There’s a brief pause, then what sounds like multiple vases shattering, one after the other.

“Yeah, sure,” says Mr. Klaus brightly. “Do you mind sending the car around to pick me up when he lands?”

Before they can reply that they’re not a chauffeur service, he adds “Oh, and can you make sure the bar is fully stocked? And throw in a little cocaine just to rounds things out.”

Resigned, they tell him that they’ll see what they can do.

* * *

  **HARGREEVES SHUTTLE, SPACE**

Mark throws up four times before he figures out how to fly the spaceship, and even then he’s not completely sure he’s at a hundred percent.

Doesn’t matter though. He’s not staying on Mars another minute longer.

He hadn’t planned on stealing the spaceship, but at some point during the bedroom activities (which Mark couldn’t bring himself to regret), the twink had mentioned that his family owned another ship, so Mark didn’t really feel bad. Plus, the guy was loaded up on MREs and basic groceries like Mark couldn’t believe.

He’s still not entirely sure he didn’t hallucinate the entire incident. It’s completely unfair that he has to eat paste and shit potatoes while fetish costume Dudley Do-Right gets to have pastrami on rye.

Another cruel twist of the knife of fate? The ship board computer shows the trip to Earth as only thirty-two hours long.

Thirty. Two. Hours. It had taken Mark seven months to get to Mars in the first place. Any guilt he’d felt at stealing the ship disappeared when he’d found that. The boy would be fine- this was more of a very expensive carjacking than anything else- wait a second.

Mars is international territory. The ship is property of the Hargreeves Expedition. Mark stole the ship. That makes him Mark Watney, Space Pirate.

The thought makes him smile as he drifts off to the most satisfied sleep one can have after becoming a space pirate.

He spends most of the flight napping, and might not have woken up for another week if it hadn’t been for an insistent beep coming from the ship’s computer.

Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he checks the alert that popped up on the screen, like some kind of rocketship Clippy.

“Atmosphere detected: auto-pilot landing procedures activated,” he reads aloud, “Do you wish to disable auto-landing?”

Mark crows and pumps his fist in the air. “Hell to the no,” he says, clicking the option.

Mark relaxes back into the comfy leather chair. “That’s one problem solved,” he sighs, putting his feet up.

Yes, yes it is.

* * *

  **HARGREEVES SHIPYARD, PRIVATE LOCATION**

The Hargreeves shipyard is a heavily guarded fortress, with twenty-four/seven security guards, multiple alarms, redundancies up the wazoo, and an alleged robotic attack dog.

It also has only one entrance and exit.

Unfortunately, that entrance is a short distance from a public road, and there’s nothing security can do to keep reporters and paparazzi alike from lining up on the sidewalk just outside.

Not that Klaus is worried about it. The upper he’s on are fantastic, and he’s working his way through the second half of the limo bar. No coke, but there was a touching note tucked behind the champagne apologizing for being unable to find a supply of his request on such short notice.  
  
Klaus opens the sunroof and waves down at all the little camera people with their shiny, shiny flashes.

The ship lands at the exact time the the computers at home had projected. Klaus watches it through the limo window, falling daintily into the shipyard like a dandelion seed.

After a few minutes, Luther stumbles out through the compound entrance and immediately face plants in the middle of a group of paparazzi. It actually takes him a good few moments to get up, which is slightly concerning, even in Klaus’ manic state. He must have actually gotten hurt on this one.

Klaus hurries out of the limo and dashes the twenty feet to help pick up Luther, shoving through the crowd of photographers. He looks terrible, and smells like Klaus on some of his rougher days.

The most worrying thing is that Luther is actually using him for support, which has happened approximately zero times in his life. Klaus is touched, or at least, he would have been, if he hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy’s face.

“Who are you?”

The man, exhausted and weak, manages to say, “Mark Watney, space pirate. Nice to meet you.”

“Wait,” Klaus says, running over the implications, “Did you steal my brother’s ship?”

Mark flails his shoulders like he’s trying to shrug. “Pirate.”

Klaus metaphorically rubs his hands together. This is the best news he has ever received in his life.

“This is the best news I’ve had in my life,” he says. “Can we go tell the reporters? Please?”

Mark makes a face. “I need to debrief. Any chance I can get a ride to NASA?”

“Sure,” Klaus says, “I just have to do something real quick.”

He shuffles himself and Mark to the limo, which they fall into gracelessly. While Mark is picking himself up, Klaus has the driver take them up to the gate and idle in the road.

Before Mark has the chance to anything, Klaus opens the sunroof and stands on the seats, surveying the gathered reporters.

“Hi everyone,” he yells brightly, “I am so deeply relieved to announce the safe return of my precious older brother, Luther, AKA Number One.

He glances down into the Limo when he feels Mark shoving his legs, almost knocking him off the seat, but Klaus maintains his balance and shoves him away with his foot.

He mugs for the camera for a few more seconds before he feels Mark trying to pull him down through the sunroof.

There's a cacophony of questions that come from the reporters, most of them for “Luther”.

Klaus holds his hands palm out and yells, kneeing Mark in the stomach, “My poor brother is still recovering from a rough landing. Our ship was damaged during the descent and it’s going to take a great deal of time and money to make the necessary repairs. Our hearts go out to Mark Watney, where ever he is-”

“I’m right here,” Mark tries to shout. He’s not very loud, even from as close

“We wish him a safe and speedy return. No further questions, your honor.” Klaus ducks back into the limo and closes the sun roof, then presses another button to signal the driver to keep going.

Mark punches Klaus weakly in the face.

* * *

**MANHATTAN SCHOOL OF MUSIC, NEW YORK**

“Oh my god, Vanya,” Felicia says, horrified, barging into the practice room. “What are you still doing here? Hartley and I have been trying to find you all day. Your brother’s hurt- It was in the papers.”

Vanya lowers her bow and reaches for her pills. She washes one down with a drink of water bottle and picks up her bow again. “I don’t read the papers, but thanks for telling me.”

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” Felicia demands.

Vanya places her violin rest back in place. “Klaus gets hospitalized for having an overdose about once a month, and the tabloids always eat it up. If I ran to the hospital every time, I’d never have time for anything else. I’ll visit him after practice.”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” Felicia says, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder. “It’s not Klaus, it’s Luther. He got hurt on Mars.”

It takes Vanya a second to process the information. “I have to go,” she says, dazed, and dashes out of the practice room.

* * *

** 99TH PRECINCT: BROOKLYN, NEW YORK **

“Holy shit, Diego,” Beaman says, waving a newspaper from across the room. “Have you- Oh never mind, I forgot you can’t read.”

Diego rolls his eyes. “Real cute, Beaman.” He reaches over and grabs the newspaper. The cover story is an update on the Mark Watney story, explaining that he was still missing on Mars. Diego skims the rest but there’s nothing else that really stand out. “What’s so exciting about this?”

“Hello?” Beaman appalled. “He’s stuck on Mars! You know Mars, the other planet? He’s still there.”

Diego hands back the paper. “And?”

Beaman gives him a cool look. “And they thought this other company was going to be able to give him a ride home, but apparently, their guy got hurt on Mars and had to fly back. The ship is damaged or something, and they don’t know if they can go save him in time.”

Diego lets out a low whistle. “Don’t tell Patch, she’ll go into one of her rages against corporations.”

“Diego,” Beaman says flatly, “it was your family’s expedition.The guy who got injured was your brother. Some folks are saying he’s some kind of asshole who left Mark Watney behind on purpose. Would he really?”

“What?” Diego takes the newspaper and studies it again. This time, he pays attention to the cover photo. It’s Klaus again, which isn’t unusual. He shows in the papers pretty often for one thing or another.

It’s a picture of Klaus with a blond, upset man leaning on him for support as they walked towards the limo. The caption identified Klaus Hargreeves standing with the rarely pictured Luther Hargreeves.

The man pictured is not Luther Hargreeves.

“Well, I can confirm that my brother is definitely an asshole,” Diego says. He doesn’t specify which brother. He didn’t really need to.

Maybe he should have.

* * *

**HARGREEVES MANSION, FRONT SIDEWALK**

Mark Watney thought getting off Mars would be the hard part.

He tries reporting to the local USAF in lieu of reporting to NASA as per standard operating protocol, only to be turned away because they all “knew he was really Luther Hargreeves”, and they “didn’t appreciate this kind of joke.” When he insists, they tell him him to come back with an ID.

When he’d been declared dead, his property had been donated and his driver’s license shredded. The DMV wouldn’t release a new ID without a birth certificate and a passport. He calls the hospital he’d been born in, but they refuse to issue a birth certificate without seeing him in person. He couldn’t get the passport without the birth certificate and the passport itself. He tries to call the field office but they were closed for the long weekend.

Mark is fucked. He should have known piracy wouldn’t pay.

He hitchhikes his way back to the Hargreeves mansion. He’s tired, exhausted, hungry and ready to make demands. The Korean neighbor and her daughter next door wave at him as rings the doorbell.

“Welcome back, Luther!” the little girl yells, face dimpling as she sends him a smile.

Mark wants to scream. “I’m not Luther” he says to himself as he forces a smile and waves back.

Klaus answers the door in a large pink bathrobe and a towel wrapped around his hair. “Hey there, Luther!” he says, smirking, “what brings you around?”

“Thanks to you, no one will believe that I’m me, and I don’t have anywhere to stay,” Mark says, scowling. “You owe me. I need somewhere to stay until I can get in touch with work and get this straightened out.”

Klaus looks guilty for a moment before opening the door wider. “Welcome home, hermano. Mi casa es su casa.”

Mark steps inside, glaring at Klaus the whole way. “Also, you need to stop telling people that I’m your brother.”

Klaus gives him his best angelic expression. “For five thousand dollars a month, I will stop.”

No, he wouldn’t.


	3. The One Where Klaus Has a Plan

**HARGREEVES MANSION, NUMBER ONE’S ROOM**

Reginald walks through the children’s wing, down the hallway between all of their bedrooms. He’s checking to make sure none of the degenerates were lurking like roaches; he’d made it very clear what would happen if they came home without permission.

Number Four’s bedroom is empty, but there’s a new mess on the ground, suggesting that he had been here recently.

He stops in front of Number One’s bedroom. The door is closed, which is odd.

Even odder is the half-naked man Reginald sees when he opens the door to inspect.

The man gives a little scream, then starts blabbering about something inconsequential. Reginald scrutinizes him, looking for signs that he’s of of Number Four’s groupies. However, he doesn’t see any sign of track marks inside the his arms, nor staining on his fingers.

Quite honestly, the man seems a step up from anyone else the children had brought around, if Reginald can ignore the idiotic, stammered apologies.

“You shall henceforth be known as Number Eight,” Reginald interrupts him. “Inform the others that Pogo and I will be gone on business. Remind them to keep the damn windows closed.”

He shuts the door and leaves before Number Eight can annoy him further.

** MARS, SPACE **

Luther wakes up the morning after he lost his virginity (several times), feeling tired, worn out, and convinced that it was all a dream.

At least, until he finds a filthy set of astronaut clothing on the trailer floor, and about half of his sandwich supplies gone. He checks his clothes and fins a clean set missing, along with the backup space suit.

He’s not really sure how to feel. He always thought he’d first make love to someone important and meaningful, like Allison. Not-

Well, not…  _Like that._

Luther’s sore in places he never imagined, and he thinks he might have semen behind his ear.

The sheets are covered in crumbs. Mark let Luther take a nap at one point and then shook him awake to ask if he could ride Luther while eating another sandwich.

Luther hadn’t known you could do that.

It turns out that it’s certainly possible, but not particularly easy to do well.

Luther eats a bowl of Crispix with the smug satisfaction of a man whose brother would never, ever be able to tease him about being a virgin ever again.

He takes out the trash to the dumpster, then looks out to the horizon, at the beautiful, non-stop horizon of the Earth overhead. Something about it makes Luther feel uneasy, but he can’t quite put his finger on what.

Luther decides to clear his head by going out to bag more rock samples for Dad. On his way out, he trips on something unexpected. Instead of a rock, he finds a gristly, fist sized chunk of bleeding meat and tiny bones.

Great. Another dead animal sample to send back to Dad.

He takes it back in to the kitchen and puts it in a paper bag, labels it “DEAD DOVE- DO NOT EAT”, and sticks it in the back of the freezer with the other twelve specimens that he’s going to send back with the next delivery.

Luther feels like he’s forgetting something important, but he doesn’t know what.

**HARGREEVES MANSION, ENTRANCE HALL**

“Klaus,” Mark says, annoyed. “I told you that I need to talk to the police to get my ID’s figured out. A stripper cop is not the same thing.” He gestures, exasperated, at the handsome, dark-haired man in what looks like a tear-away cop uniform.

Klaus gives him a completely unrepentant smile, his eyes a little too dilated. “I cannot believe you would accuse me such things, after I welcomed you back to our home-”

“Your home,” Mark snaps.

“Showed you to your childhood room-”

“That’s not my room!”

“- and took care of you, dear brother-”

“I don’t even know you!” he yells.

“- in your time of need.” Klaus says gleefully, “Besides, I already told you. For four thousand dollars, I will stop.”

Mark actually grabs his own hair and pulls to keep himself from punching Klaus. The breeze from the window sends chills up the back of his neck.

“Klaus, cut it out,” says the stranger, sending Mark a pitying look. “Hi, I’m Diego, Klaus’s brother.” He holds out his hand for Mark to shake.

Mark grabs it with both of his hands and almost falls to his knees. “Please help me get in touch with the police,” he begs, “There’s been a huge mistake. I’m Mark Watney. I stole a spaceship to get back from Mars, and now everyone thinks I’m Luther Hargreeves.”

Diego pats Mark on the back. “I’m not a stripper, by the way. I’m a cadet. I can give you a ride down to the station and help you get this straightened out.”

“On what,” asks Klaus incredulously, “Your police bike?”

Mark ignores him and holds Diego’s hand against his face. “Thank you,” he says, actually tearing up, “Thank you so much.”

Diego awkwardly pulls his hand away, about to say something, then stops himself. He turns to Klaus with a gleam in his eye that eerily mirrored Klaus’ own. “Wait. If everyone thinks that this guy is Luther, does that mean-”

Klaus grins manically. “Oh yes. Dad and Pogo are traveling on business again for the next three weeks. No one else who knows that he’s stuck.”

“Holy shit,” Diego says delightedly. “Holy shit this is great. This is-” He turns to Mark, overexcited. “I can take you down to the station to help you work out your identity, but would you mind keeping this from the press as long as possible? You’d be doing us a huge favor.”

Klaus tilts his head, like a cat regarding a very helpless mouse. “You _did_ steal our trillion-dollar spaceship. I wonder if there’s a charge above first degree grand theft? Zeroth degree? Regardless, I’m sure the lawyers would figure it out,” he says.

Diego elbows Klaus, hard. “Hey, stop it. We’re not blackmailing,” he turns to Mark and grins, “But we can provide financial compensation.”

Mark looks at the two of them, Klaus grinning maniacally and Diego looking far too pleased with himself.

Oh, fuck it. At least he had a place to stay.  
  
“Yeah, fine.”

**HARGREEVES MANSION, FRONT SIDEWALK**

The cab stops, jolting Vanya awake. She silently hands the driver the wad of cash Hartley had given her, not bothering to count it. “Keep the change,” she says, then climbs out of the car.

When she’d protested his generosity, Hartley had laughed and said it was leftovers from the last time he’d knocked over Central City First National Bank. He was always making weird jokes like that.

Felicia had offered to send for her personal car service, but Vanya hadn’t wanted to wait that long. Luther had never been in this much trouble, and if he was injured badly enough to need medical attention, then it was worth it to pay the exorbitant taxi fare from school.

Vanya ambles to the front gate, consumed with thoughts of what could possibly be wrong with her brother, then stopped as she realizes it’s locked

Vanya checks her pockets for her keys, and curses when she finds them empty. She must have left them in her dorm. She had gone straight from the practice room to the cab; it was pure luck that she’d had a half-empty bottle of her pills with her.

Vanya tries it again. Nothing. She presses the intercom button outside, waiting for one of her siblings to let her in.

She waits. And waits. And waits. And waits some more.

She checks her watch. It’s after nine, which means Mom is charging. She considers checking the windows but Dad is freakishly obsessive about making sure they’re closed.

“Vanya, dear?”

Mrs. Teriff from next door stands steps out onto the sidewalk. She waves at Vanya, smiling. “Everything alright? I can hear that ghastly buzzing from my sitting room.”

Ben had loved the Teriffs when he was alive, always disappearing to their place for ages to hang out with them. They were Korean American, like him, and had been excited to share their culture with him. The Teriffs were never rude to the other Hargreeves kids when they tagged along, but it was clear Ben was their favorite.

Vanya used to pretend that the Teriffs would take her and Ben away from Dad, and let them play whenever they wanted and eat tteok for dessert every day. It had never occurred to her to fantasize about being the only one adopted- nobody would want Vanya on her own.

But one day, when they were twelve, something had happened to Ben.

He’d come home from their house, shaken and face drained of color. He’d made them all promise never to be alone with them, then locked himself in his room for three days.

At first, Vanya had been furious, thinking that Ben wanted the Teriffs all to himself. But when she’d seen how deeply upset he was, she agreed, and hadn’t seen them since.

Until today.

Mrs. Teriff’s evening robe flutters in the wind, showing more of her cleavage than is strictly decent.

Vanya swallows hard. “I- I’m locked out. I, um. Forgot my keys in my dorm? My brother’s in trouble,” she blurts out awkwardly.

“Oh no,” Mrs. Teriff covers her mouth in shock, letting her sleeve slide down to show off her long, exquisite wrist. “Why don’t you come spend the night with us?”

“Umm,” Vanya says, her mind going blank as Mrs. Teriff grasps her wrist gently, her smooth, cold fingers and neatly manicured nails sending chills up Vanya’s spine.

Vanua tries to remind herself that she made Ben a promise, that it was important to honor promises you made to dead people

“It’s fine if you don’t want to spend the night, I understand. It’s been a long time since we’ve been neighborly,” Mrs. Teriff sighs heavily, a little bit of her robe coming undone and revealing the edge of a lacy black bra.

Before she can stop herself, Vanya can hear herself say, “I’d love to come.” she blinks and rushes to add, “In. I’d love to come in.”

Mrs. Teriff guides Vanya into the house with soft hands. “I have a great manicurist,” Mrs. Teriff says when she sees Vanya staring, “See? Everything had been filed down as low as it can go and shaped so I couldn’t hurt a fly.”

Vanya inhales sharply. When did it get so hot in here? “Do you mind if I make a call to my brother,” she says, strangled and awkward, “If he’s at the station he can finally tell me what’s going on.”

Mrs. Teriff cups Vanya’s face. “Not at all dear. Help yourself to the hall phone. I need to make a call from my study, then I’ll be able to help you,” she pauses and rakes Vanya up and down with her gaze, “get ready for bed.”

Vanya waits until Mrs. Teriff disappears up the stairs to lean against the wall and releases a deep breath. She fans herself, waiting for the bright red blush on her face to disappear.

When she finally calls the precinct, Diego is, unsurprisingly, unavailable.

Well, at least she tried.

**ZUCKERCORN LAW OFFICES, NEW YORK**

Ben stretches out on Barry’s sofa as Klaus splits Barry’s coke into neat lines. Ben spends a lot of time in Barry’s office with Klaus, watching them do coke and pretend to know legal terms as they discuss Klaus’s many cases.

If you asked Ben, he’d say that he spent far too much time in Barry’s office, but of course, no one ever did.

“Thanks for the hit, buddy” Klaus says before he takes a rolled up dollar bill and snorts a line.

“Mamma mia, this is some good shit,” he exclaims, pupils dilating like a cats’.

He gives Barry a coquettish look. “Barry, did you get a new supplier and forget to tell me?”

Barry looks up from his own line. “Oh yeah, I met this great cross dressing prostitute with the best coke. He works for The Butcher. You’d like him.” Barry says. “Great skirts and he’s definitely not a cop.”

Klaus heads over to the sofa and gestures for Ben to move over so he can lay down.

Ben sticks out his tongue and doesn’t move an inch. Klaus sticks his tongue out right back and lies down right on top of him, passing through his ghostly form.

“Asshole,” Ben mutters as he stands up and goes to stand behind Barry.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” Klaus finally replies, looking pathetic. “Pogo hid all the valuables before he and Dad took off. Any chance you can spot me?”

Barry shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says, sounding not sorry at all, “this is the last of my coke. I’m low on funds until the Bluth’s send over my quarterly retainer.”

“Maybe you can take this as an opportunity to get sober,” says Ben.

Klaus puts a hand in front of his face so that he can’t see Ben, only Barry. He stretches out and kicks up his feet. “Well, that’s a bummer. Any idea on how I can get some some coke and or money?”

Barry doesn’t respond for a few minutes, and Klaus is about to ask again when he jumps up and snaps his fingers, startling Ben.

“Fundraising!”

Klaus rolls his eyes. “I’m trying, Barry.”

Barry shakes his head and says excitedly “No, real fundraising. Tell them that with enough money, you can fix your spaceship and save what’s-his-dick on Venus.”

“Mars,” corrects Ben, but no one listens.

Klaus lets out a small, outraged gasp, “How dare you? A girl like _me_ , doing _work_?”

Barry shakes his head, positively manic. “That’s the beauty of it- Fundraisers are when everyone gives away their money to the people in charge and you just do what you want with it. It’s a win-win situation!”

“It’s really not,” Ben says.

Klaus glares at Ben. “You, hush” he hisses, then turns back to Barry. “You- Do you promise I won’t have to do anything?”

“Well,” Barry says, “You’ll have to show up to the fundraiser event, but I don’t see why you’d have to do any work. We’ll just have to ask your father if I can do the legal parts for you.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Ben protests. He has about the same effect as a light breeze.

When Klaus calls to ask, Dad snaps, “I gave you Barry as a birthday present precisely so you wouldn’t have to bother me with your legal troubles,” then hangs up.

“Klaus, please,” Ben begs. “Don’t do this.”

Klaus take’s Barry’s sunglasses off of his desk and puts them on, “Let’s get this coke train a-rolling.”

**  
PARIS, FRANCE **

Allison paces in her trailer and jumps when the door finally opens. “Has he called? Do you have any news?”

Her assistant smiles and nods. “Claire’s fever broke last night. She’s doing fine. Patrick says that he knows you’re busy but he’d love it if-”

“No, not my husband,” Allison says, anxiously wringing her hands, “Luther! He usually calls every two or three weeks. It’s been three weeks and two days! Something is wrong. Are you sure he hasn’t called?

“Nothing, Allison. I’m sorry. Would you like me to try calling your sister? She might know something,” she suggests meekly.

“Vanya? Know something? Are you kidding me?,” Allison scoffs, “No, ask the studio if I can have family leave. I need to get to the bottom of this.”

The assistant scrunches up her face and says “I can try. I know they wanted to have you do a press junket, so maybe if we can make it seem like you can’t be seen by the public, we can get you back to the states.”

Allison grins and gives her assistant a quick hug. “Yes! Thank you!”

  
 **99th PRECINCT: BROOKLYN, NEW YORK**  
  
Captain Holt steps out of the elevator, and a hush instantly falls on the floor. He briefly scans the gathered officers, when his gaze finally lands on Diego.  
  
“Officer Hargreeves, report to the upstairs briefing room,” he says, his face unreadable. He takes a step back into the elevator, and vanishes as quickly as he appeared.

Diego stares blankly at the closed metal doors.

Horton jostles his shoulder, grinning. “Maybe you’re finally getting transferred out of traffic,” she signs.

There’s no way the Captain would ever to do something like that himself. Sgt. Santiago had been the one to brief Patch on her department change- there’s no reason why she wouldn’t be the one to tell Diego.

Diego rubs his faces his his hands. “Klaus is behind this,” he groans, “He always is.”

Yamaguchi glances away guiltily, then carefully schools his face. “Funny you say that.”

“Oh no, what?”

Yamaguchi pats Diego on the shoulder. “Patch is in that briefing- and she’s been working a case big enough to involve a task force,”

He should have known. Klaus wasn’t a big enough fish to warrant a task force, but his father on the other hand…

Diego guesses that someone had finally cottoned onto the Hargreeves’ fishy financials. Dad never told them how he made his money, only that he was a billionaire, and that’s all you need to know, Number Two.

Privately, Diego thinks it has to be sweatshops. There’s only so much money you can make without violating labor laws.

He arrives in time to hear Detective Peralta start the meeting.

“Ok, everyone,” he says with his usual enthusiasm, “We’re here to,” he does exaggerated air quotes, “ ‘provide back up security’ to at this fundraiser.” He clicks to the next slide and Diego feels his blood go cold.

There’s a scan of a flyer that says “SAVE MARK WATNEY”, with a crude stick figure man on a circle, with arrows pointing dollar signs to him. It also gives the date and time of a ‘telathon’ to raise money to repair the ship.

Diego thinks that maybe this is has officially gone too far.

He checks the exits to see if there’s anyway he can leave discreetly but there’s nowhere to escape. He sinks down into in his seat, praying that the ground swallows him whole.

“Can they do that? I thought the ship was corporate property. Isn’t it unethical to raise money to give to a corporation to spend on themselves?” asks Evil Rodriguez, who _is_ a honest cop for all that she has a thing for sexually harassing Diego in Spanish.

Detective Peralta nods at Evil Rodriguez, “So fun fact, as long as it’s not trying to pass itself off as a 401(c)(3), apparently it’s completely legal for a corporation to do this. It is extremely unethical, and the world is a terrible place,” he says with sarcastic cheer.

“Which is what brings us here,” Captain Holt says, shooing Detective Peralta from the podium. He clicks to the next slide and launches into a composed monologue.

“We’ve received a hot tip that the fundraiser is money laundering scheme at the highest level. Our officers will be pretending to offer their support as backup security while a handful of our trusted officers will be gathering evidence of embezzlement, money laundering, and fraud.”

Holt gestures to Diego, and the whole room turns around in their chairs to look at him.

“Officer Hargreeves will serve as the undercover distraction by pretending to present a large novelty check from the Police Union.”

Detective Boyle lets out an outraged squawk. “Sir, why the rookie instead of me? Boyles are excellent novelty check presenters. Our round, prepubescent bone structure makes the checks look twice as large.”

Captain Holt’s expression barely changes. “Because our anonymous tip alleged that his family is involved,” he says blandly, “and while it isn’t clear what the level of involvement is, he can still provide his expertise while also having an airtight alibi to prevent any accusations of misconduct. Obviously.”

If Diego didn’t know better, he’d swear that the Captain smirked.

“Obviously,” echoes Sgt. Santiago.

Diego slides all the way off the chair onto the floor. He’s so fucked.

** HARGREEVES MANSION, FRONT SIDEWALK **

Mark flops onto his bed and unleashes a scream of primal rage into his pillow.

On his bed, the phone plays an aggravatingly cheery tune. The cord stretches out the door, around and down the hallway from where he’d dragged it.

He’s been on hold with Mission Control for over three hours, stuck in an endless voicemail tree.

His clearance codes had been discontinued when he’d been declared dead, so now he has to try to reach his superiors through civilian channels without having them hang up on him.

There’s a knock on the frame of the door, startling him. A tall, gentle-looking woman in a vintage dress smiles at him. “Nice to meet you, I’m Grace.” She pauses and looks him up and down, clearing wearing Luther’s clothes, “Are you Luther’s friend?”

“Oh no, Klaus owed me a favor, I’m just… staying here for a while” Mark says uncomfortably. She is far too young to be their mother, but clearly not any kind of staff. Is she some kind of sexy grandma sugar baby?

Grace just stands there, smiling with a vacant look in her eyes. Desperate to break the silence, Mark jokes “Apparently I’m Number Eight now.”

Grace’s eyes flicker like computer screens and turn an electric blue.

Mark screams and throws the phone at her.

The color fades after a second or two, but Mark has seen a horror movie before. He knows he’s going to die. “PLEASE DON’T KILL ME!”

Grace blinks slowly, and then gives Mark a loving, maternal smile. “Hello, son. I’m Grace. Your father built me to be your mother. Would you like me to give you a name, Number Eight?”

“My name is Mark Watney and ohmyGOD! DON’TKILLME!” He shrieks, grabbing the comforter and pulling it in front of him like a shield.

“Of course it is, Mark Watney,” Grace says soothingly. “Why don’t I fix you a snack while you finish your call?” She picks up the phone and places it on the nightstand, then leans and kisses his forehead before she leaves.

Mark thinks he’s about to have a real heart attack.

“What. The. Fuck.” He says slowly. Then- “What the FUCK?”

He picks up the phone carefully and holds it to his ear.

The dial tone plays, neutral and even.

“Motherfuck-” he swears as he slams the phone back down on the bed.

He should have never left Mars. “I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Yes. Yes he has.

** TERIFF TOWNHOUSE, NEXT DOOR **

When Vanya first wakes up, she idly wonders if she’s been kidnapped. She only ever wakes up in comfortable sheets when she’s been kidnapped. Then she remembers the day before, and whose house she’s in. She sits up at looks around at the familiar guest room, remembering the nights she and Ben used to spend in here.

Vanya pulls on her clothes from yesterday and wanders back down into the kitchen, yawning. Mrs. Wiśniewski, the Teriff’s cook, winks at Vanya and pulls a full pancake breakfast from the warmer.

“Eat, Little Vanya,” she says in a thick Polish accent, “You are too skinny!”

She doesn’t let Vanya leave until she’s eaten half, and then sends her off with the leftovers in a box.

The front door in unlocked when Vanya attempts to enter the Academy again.

“Mom? Pogo?” she calls out. There’s muddy tracks that look suspiciously Diego-like on the floor, and she sees one of Klaus’s coats strewn over the couch. Good, then she’s not the only sibling who showed up for Luther.

“Kitchen, dear!”

Vanya ambles down to the kitchen and sees Mom making toasted peanut butter and banana sandwiches. “Hey Mom, is Luther okay?”

Mom turns her head around completely backwards to face Vanya while she continues to build sandwiches. “Of course, dear. I haven’t heard anything different.”

Vanya feels the warning signs of splitting migraine begin to emerge.

“Mom,” she says slowly, “there was a whole article in the paper about how he was hurt coming back from Mars. It sounded really serious.”

Vanya can feel herself shaking a little. It was always serious injuries with One. He was so good at hiding the small injuries that when something big happened, it seemed a hundred times worse.

“Hmm,” Grace hums, turning her head the right way around to rummage through the cupboard for a platter. “You should ask your brother. He’s upstairs in Luther’s room.”

“Which brother?” Vanya asks.

Grace turns around holding a platter with one sandwich cut into nine small squares,“Why Number-”

“Vanya!”

She turns around to see Diego in the doorway. Relieved, she flings herself at him and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thank God,” she says, “please tell me what’s going on.”

Instead of answering, Diego removes her arms from around his waist one by one, then steps back. He looks at her critically. “What are you doing here?” he asks, “Wait- when did you stop dressing like a goth?”

“That’s not important,” Vanya replies, a little hurt, “I heard about what happened. Mom said Luther’s fine, but-”

Diego laughs, interrupting her. “Fine? I don’t think he’s even noticed!” He abruptly changes tones and leans in seriously. “Listen, if Mom briefed you on what’s going on, then you need to be really careful about what you say. Klaus is really in it now, and I don’t want him dragging you down with him.”

Vanya waits for him to explain what exactly Dad’s done, but Diego just grabs one of the tiny sandwiches off the tray and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. “Thanks, Mom,” he grumbles.

Diego chews in brooding silence for a second, then asks through a mouth of half chewed food, “Has Luther called?”

“Not yet dear,” Mom says.

Diego growls in frustration, then storms out of the kitchen. Vanya can hear the echo of his boots as he stomps up the stairs.

Well, she’s certainly not going after him while he’s one of those moods. In the meantime….

“Mom, is Klaus around?”

Mom tilts her head. “He’s been in and out. You might catch him if you stay in his room.”

“Thanks Mom,” she says with a quiet smile of gratitude.

Mom hands a plate of sandwiches to Vanya and says,“Oh, and would you take them up to Number Eight? He’s in Luther’s room.”

Vanya blinks. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there strangers. We have a an Umbrella Academy Discord for any and all sundry who want to stop by!
> 
> https://discord.gg/PFyCbA9


	4. The One Where Allison Ruins A Fundraiser

**NASA, TEXAS**

The conference doors open slowly, seemingly of their own accord.

Venk looks around, confused, then looks down, and sees Daisy stalking towards him, holding a stack of papers in a manila folder. 

When Daisy dumps the folder in his lap, he asks “What am I looking at?”

Daisy’s dead eyed glare makes him regret asking. “It’s audio transcripts from the Curiosity…” she grits out the next part like saying it is physically painful “... sir.”

Venk flips through a couple pages, then pauses, the implication hitting him. “Then that means-

“-Watney is alive, yes,” says Daisy coldly, but Venk ignores her in favor of examining the papers more closely.

“These are just the transcription of the frequency,” he observes, “Can we translate them?”

“We could, but, should we?” she asks pointedly. 

“What are you talking about? Of course we should!” says Venk, taken aback. “Mark could be telling us something about how to rescue-”

Daisy interrupts him “It’d also be a PR nightmare. Do you really want to be the one responsible for leaking it to the press that not only was Mark Watney abandoned on Mars twice, but have the audio logs of his descent into madness available on Spotify?”

Daisy’s face was quite red by the end of it, breathing heavily. Venk isn’t sure how any of them ever mistook her for a child. 

“I- I guess you’re right,” he stammers, as he slowly closes the manila folder. Daisy takes a moment to compose herself, smoothing down her blouse and polishing her glasses. 

Venk tries to steamroll the awkward silence. “Do you have any idea why I haven’t been getting any calls in my office?’

Daisy glares directly into his soul. She says coldly “Do I look like your secretary?”, then stalks out of the room, nose in the air. 

Venk shudders to himself. “I feel like I should be reported for violating child labor laws.”

* * *

 

**PARIS, FRANCE**

Allison nearly jumps out of her skin when Assistant bursts through the door to the green room, holding a small white envelope in her hand. She quickly turns away from the makeup artist, ignoring her protests. 

“What is it? Is that from Luther? Vanya? The studio? ” she grills. 

The makeup artist clucks her tongue and gently turns Allison’s head back towards the mirror. “Stay still!” 

“Show it to me,” Allison demands. She snaps her fingers. "Unless you want to hear a rumor?"

Assistant opens the envelope and holds the letter up in the mirror, somehow expecting her to read the entire thing backwards. 

She swivels around and chides, “I can’t read that!”, and Assistant nods.

"Right, right. Sorry, I forgot about Ben.”

Before Allison can ask what Ben has to do with anything, the makeup artist forces her head back in place. “Stay still or this is going to end in a very ugly chiropractic adjustment.”

Allison snaps her fingers again and closes her eyes. She can’t move if she doesn’t see what’s going on. “Just read it to me.”

She hears some papers rustle.  “Good news, bad news. The good news is Fünke is willing to let you spend a couple weeks in your hometown, bad news is that you have you to host the telethon charity for Mark Watney first.”

Allison opens her eyes and takes a deep breath, staring at herself in the mirror. “I can do that." She could do anything for Luther.

* * *

 

**MARS, SPACE**

Luther follows the tracks of the baby robot on his morning walk. 

He’d found the little guy only a few days ago, and he already loves it more than anything he’d loved on Earth (except maybe Allison).

It seems to be set on some kind of ever-widening loop, every morning straying further and further from the camp, no matter how many times Luther takes it back. Luckily, with his strength and stamina, it takes no time at all to catch up with the little guy. 

“Hey again, it’s me. Your neighbor.” 

Predictably, the robot doesn’t respond, but Luther doesn’t mind that. It couldn’t tell him he was worthless if it didn’t talk, right?

“You remind me so much of my Mom. She was also pretty quiet.  She made the neatest stitches…” Luther trails off as he rests one hand on its body and feels the rumble of machinery under the surface.  After a beat, he resumes his ramblings. 

“I always wanted a pet. My brother brought home a kitten once but it went missing a day later. I don’t think Dad killed it but you can never tell with Dad.  Do you wanna be my pet?”

The robot rolls ever onward, occasionally making soft clicks as it goes. 

He rubs his hand along the side, pretty sure that this is how you pet things. “Yeah, you’re like my Mom and sister Vanya combined. Let me tell you about my sisters.”

Luther spends the rest of the day telling his new robotic friend all about his sisters. Well... One sister anyway.

* * *

 

**ROCKEFELLER CENTER, NEW YORK**

Klaus glances around the actor rooms, looking delighted. “I have always wanted to be here. I hear Tracy Jordan keeps a salt shaker full of coke cut with diamonds.”

Barry looks suitably impressed. “Is that good?”

“No, of course not,” says Ben with the exasperation of the unheard, “Why on Earth would you think that?”

Klaus shakes his head wistfully. “Who cares? It’s the dream. I’ve always wanted to have so many drugs I could waste them. Imagine having enough LSD to fill a pool and swim in.” Klaus sighs at stares dreamily into the middle distance. ”What a way to go.”

A little girl tugs on his dress and discretely draws his attention to a tall man in a respectable suit walking towards them.  Whoever she was, she’d taken to running around like their assistant, telling Klaus where to show up and what to do. She bounces into place behind Klaus, handing Barry a meeting agenda and list of talking points.

Ben stares at her curiously. “She looks really familiar,” he says to no one in particular. 

“Hello, Jack Donaghy,” says the man in the suit, introducing himself. “You must be the folks putting on the show. Welcome to NBC. We peacock comedy.”

Klaus can recognize atelier fitted clothes anywhere, and the monogram on the handkerchief screams overcompensation. Dad had always told them never to speak to new money, but if they must, to cater to their ridiculous notions of grandeur.

Klaus is glad he’d stolen this dress from Allison all those months ago. 

“Thank you,” he says, shaking the man’s hand, “We’re all just here to bring Wark Matney back. Now, Barry said we could reconvene in your office, have some party favors, and get to work?”

Jack doesn't seem to hear him. "We’ve got some big names signed on for the telethon. Tracy Jordan, Angelina Jolie, Sandra Bullock, and of course, whats-her-name fresh off the set of that new Christopher Nolan flick.”

Klaus, who hasn’t seen a movie in theaters once in his entire life, smiles through his teeth and says, “Great! I’m a little more interested in meeting with one of your girls. Molly if she’s available? Cocaine if she’s not.”

Behind Jack, Ben just flips him off. 

Klaus gives Jack a pointed look. He is itching for something good. 

Jack Donaghy nods and says, “Of course. Right this way, Director Hargreeves. Will the Deputy Director, Mister Eff be joining us?”

Klaus shrugs. He has no idea which poor bastard got tricked by Barry into the Deputy Director position, but as long as Klaus doesn’t have to do any real work, he couldn’t care less.

* * *

**HARGREEVES MANSION, HALLWAY**

Vanya tries to find Number Eight. She really does. 

She searches the guest rooms, the basement rooms, the common rooms, and even the other bedrooms, but they’re all empty.  Even Pogo and Dad’s rooms don’t look like anyone’s disturbed them. 

Afterwards, she tries looking for Diego again, but predictably, everyone has run out on their own stupid missions and left Vanya home alone.

She tries to wait in the library, just to have something to do, and is pleasantly surprised when the phone rings.

“Hello?” Vanya says, hesitantly. She’s never done this in her own home. It feels like Dad is going to swoop out from behind a curtain and make her apologize for breathing.

“Hello dear, it’s Mrs. Terriff,” the voice says. “I saw you through the window and thought I would check on you. How is your brother, Luther?”

“Um,” Vanya says. She doesn’t know how to admit she has no idea what’s going on. “He’s fine. Doing better,” she says.  

“Wonderful! And has he mentioned anything about the ship?” Mrs. Teriff asks, a note of something like concern in her voice.

“Loads of things,” Vanya says, forcing a laugh. “He um- He just won’t shut up about that old ship.”

“So the repairs are coming along nicely?”

Vanya knows she should have looked at that stupid newspapers before Mom threw it away.  “Yeah! Tons of repairs, coming along great. It’s going to take a lot of hard work.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. We’ll be sure to make a sizable donation to your brothers charity. Any idea how much he’ll need?”

Vanya regrets ever answering the phone. She contemplates the consequences of faking bad reception, then remembers that they’re on a landline, and Mrs. Teriff can see her as they speak. 

“Four,” she blurts out without thinking. 

“Four what?”

Think, Vanya. Think!

“Four-illion,” Vanya says, nodding her head slowly, as if that would sell it. “He’s gonna need four-illion dollars. Thanks for calling! Bye!”

She hangs up and breathes a sigh of relief. She still needs to find someone who can explain what’s going on.

* * *

 

**NASA, TEXAS**

“This is depressing,” Teddy says, running the sound files in his personal laptop. “Is this really Mark’s childhood? I’m not sure if I should get the guy a therapist or an attorney.”

Daisy gestures at the sound file with her chin. “It’s all stories like that. Their Dad locking them up in solitary confinement for one reason or another. Sneaking out at night for donuts. The fun things they got to do during their 30 minutes of recreation. Really makes you think about whether humans have the right to rule the Earth.”

“Poor gu- Wait, what?”

Daisy continues as if she hadn’t heard him. “You see why it would be best if NASA casually misplaced the records? Or chose not to collect any more sound files?”

Teddy eyes the computer, the dozens of sound bytes they have of Mark Watney chatting casually about a childhood that sounded like it was straight out of the Handmaid’s Tale. If nothing else, Teddy wishes he could apologize to the guy for what he’s about to do, but, this is a fucking PR disaster. If word gets out about this, Mark will only become more of a martyr to the public than he already is, and NASA will be lucky to have enough funding to build rockets out of cereal boxes.

With a heavy sigh, Teddy deletes the all the computer files and hands the flash drive back to Daisy. She takes it without comment and marches out of his office, probably already plotting to ruin someone else’s day. 

He’s not even going to mention it to Venk. He was on the edge of a nervous breakdown anyways. The last thing they needed was a child abuse angle to drive up sympathy for the Watney situation.

* * *

**HARGREEVES MANSION, FRONT HALL**

“Brother, dear!” Klaus calls out as obnoxiously as he can. “My dearest brother!”

Grace comes out from the kitchen, Vanya on her heels.

Ben whirls around from where he was inspecting the bookcase. “What is she doing here? She’s supposed to be at school. Is she okay? Klaus, ask if she’s okay.”

“Well if it isn’t little Vanya,” Klaus says with almost sarcastic enthusiasm as he walks over to give her a big hug and discreetly check her pockets. “What are you doing here? Get kicked out of that fancy music school?”

Vanya flinches and shakes her head, “I heard about Luther,” she mumbles, then shoots a hesitant glance at Grace, “...and about Number Eight. Klaus, I’m really worried.” 

Klaus is glad that he doesn’t have to catch her up. He’s not even sure he himself understands what’s going on right now.

Vanya opens her mouth, but before she can speak, he presses a single finger to her lips. “Hey, ssshhhhhhhhh. Everything’s gonna be just fine,” he says in his most soothing voice. 

Ben looks unimpressed. “Dude, she’s a person, not a horse.”

Klaus starts stroking Vanya’s shoulder, almost talking to himself at this point. “Eventually Dad will figure it out and go pick him up. Plus, we got another brother out of it, so what’s the real harm? No one got hurt.” 

Motherfucker, what did Vanya put in her laundry detergent? Her hoodie felt amazing. Klaus stares at his hand as he picks at the soft cotton blend.

Ben circles behind Vanya and tucks his head just over hers. “You need to stop, dude. You’re freaking her out.”

Klaus nods understandingly and pulls his hand back, then starts rubbing the other shoulder.

Vanya is saying something, He should probably listen, but- the fabric is just so soft.

“We should put on some music and dance. You like dancing, Vanya?” Klaus sways a little, smiling. “We can dance to celebrate our new brother.  Mmhmm?” He reaches for her hands and twists his hips. “You too, Ben, it’s a family dance party.”

“The phone is ringing,” Vanya says, trying to pull away.

“Nooo, family dance party!” Klaus tightens his hold and attempts to pull Vanya into a facsimile of a waltz. 

Let’s check on who’s calling.

* * *

**MARS, SPACE**

PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE TONE. BEEP. 

“Hey Dad, it’s me, Luther. I mean, Number One.  So, theoretically, if I lost a spaceship, like, on accident, would you be able to come and get me?  I’m running low on cereal. Also, I’m running low on freezer space. There’s way too many dead birds. Ok. Love you, bye.”

* * *

**99th PRECINCT; BROOKLYN, NEW YORK**

Diego and Mark shuffle into the upper floor from the elevator, hoodies and sunglasses covering their faces. Thankfully, although they look very suspicious, no one approaches them as they approach the captain’s office. 

Diego is about to yank open the door when he feels a firm hand on his shoulder and he’s spun around. Detective Diaz is holding a knife against his throat, giving him and Mark a glare that could scorch metal

“What do you think you’re doing,” she hisses, “interrupting the captain’s lunch break with his husband? And with  _ him?  _ ”

Diego gives his best disarming grin. “Heh, I just need to find some missing paperwork that I processed. This guy,” he pats Mark on the back, “is here to help me sort it out.”

Detective Diaz slowly lowers her knife, but shakes her head. “Still can’t let you through. The Captain’s been really stressed out by the way Deputy Commissioner Turfa has been interfering with the precinct. Have you tried talking to Santiago? She loves nerdy paperwork stuff.”

Diego rubs the back of his neck. He was afraid she would ask that. “ Sgt. Santiago’s married to Detective Peralta and I was kind of trying to keep this quiet-”

“Nice going, dipshit,” Mark says bitterly. Diego smacks the back of his head.

“As I was saying, things have really gotten out of control and we could really use some help.” 

Detective Diaz regards them suspiciously. “Does this have anything to do with... feelings?”

“Ugh, no,” Diego says with a shudder.

“Fine. Briefing room.”

Diego drags Mark with him into the room and tries to explain, to the best of his abilities, how they left Luther on the moon as a prank, but then everything snowballed, and now someone was taking advantage of it by throwing a fundraiser.

“Probably my Dad,” Diego admits, “He’s always been an opportunistic asshole. There’s no way anyone else in my family’s involved. Vanya’s too shy, Klaus barely knows what day of the week it is, Allison’s in the middle of a film contract, I don’t have the time, and Luther is literally in space.” 

“So you’re the real Mark Watney.” Detective Diaz doesn’t ask so much as dare him to contradict her.

Diego doesn’t know if it’s the short term exposure to their family or the extenuating circumstances, but Mark doesn’t even blink. “Yes, and I swear there is some kind of conspiracy to keep me from reclaiming my life. Diego filed for a protective order to get me my records and bank account access, but every time either of us check on it, it’s listed as in progress.  I’ve tried to call my employers like five times, but every time, my calls are being blocked or placed on indefinite hold or something. This fundraiser just proves that something really shady is happening.”

Detective Diaz looks him up and down, considering him, then stand up and pulls over one of the white erase boards. She writes Mark’s name in big letters, then circles it. 

As she considers it, she says over her shoulder, “I’ll get the Captain after lunch. Hargreeves, go get Boyle, Peralta, and Santiago. If we have a mole at the NYPD, I want people we can trust. We only have a day before the charity event.”

When Diego and Mark stand up at the same time, Diego shoots him an incredulous look. 

Mark sits back down, flustered. “Sorry, I think I’m getting a little too used to being Luther.”

* * *

 

**MARS, SPACE**

“Hi Robot,” Luther says, “It’s me again.”

The Mars Curiosity rolls forward at its top speed. It’s not fast enough.

Luther leans against it, stroking its metal sides, and recounts exactly how he lost each of his baby teeth.

Yeah, we’re not sticking around for that.

* * *

 

**BROOM CLOSET, ROCKEFELLER CENTER, NEW YORK**

“Good news,” Assistant says, “Patrick and Claire are arriving tonight and meeting you at the Academy.

Allison rolls her eyes. God knows why she hasn’t fired this assistant yet. She couldn’t seem to understand that Patrick is not the center of Allison’s world. Her husband loves her, which is nice, but Allison is a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a man.  

“When can I leave? I need to get to Luther.”

Assistant looks at her clipboard. “You’re on towards the end. Here’s your script and your cue cards. There’s no time for a walk through, but we can get you backstage during a commercial to walk you through the blocking since we weren’t able to get you a flight fast enough for rehearsal.”

Allison nods and takes a swig from her water bottle right as her assistant tries to hand her the clipboard.  The water bottle goes flying, getting water all over her blouse in the process. Crud, this fucking day. She fixes her assistant with her iciest glare and grits out, “Again, when can I go to Luther?”

“We can be out of here by 9:30pm,” Assistant says meekly, “The green room has been taken over by security, and the dressing room is in use by all the different acts all night. This is the closest thing to a private room that I could get you.

Allison shrugs. She’s had worse growing up.  “I heard a rumor that you’re going to quit this job tomorrow.”

Assistant gives her a warm smile. It raises the hair on the back of Allison's neck. "My resignation letter is in your folio. My last day is Wednesday!" 

* * *

 

**HALLWAY, ROCKEFELLER CENTER**

A production assistant shoves an enormous novelty check into Diego’s face. “Do you know what you’re supposed to do?” he asks, and groans at Diego’s blank stare. 

“In twenty minutes, Jennifer Allison Page is going to walk out and make small talk with Jimmy Fallon, you-”

Diego blanches. “Allison’s here?” Diego felt his stomach drop into the floor. Allison was never rational when Luther was involved. The one and only time Luther was ever kidnapped as a child, she’d turned all his captors inside out with a rumor.

The bright-eyed production assistant snaps his fingers in front of Diego’s eyes. “Focus!”

Diego instinctively snaps to attention

The production assistant points threateningly at the monitor currently showing the stage. “You will walk from here to here. You will smile and wave when the teleprompter tell you to, and you will keep waving until we signal you to leave the stage. At no time are you permitted to say anything or do anything that deviates from this. You are not to approach the talent in any way. You are permitted to respond if they engage first. If you violate this agreement, the full strength of NBC’s legal team will peacock you, Sir.”

Diego lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that.” Surely this kid knew who he was trying to intimidate, right?

The blond production assistant squints at him and squares his shoulders, drawing himself up almost regally. “Is that a threat, Sir?” he says with righteous fury radiating off of him in waves. 

Diego shakes his head and tries not to laugh. “No, sorry. No offense. Although,” he adds, “Jennifer Allison Page is my sister. Don’t be surprised if we look friendly.”

The production assistant folds his arms just under his name badge reading KENNETH in an obnoxious font. “Sir, I repeat: You are not to approach the talent. You are permitted to respond if they engage first. Is that understood, Mr. Hargreeves?”

Diego rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

* * *

 

**KITCHEN, HARGREEVES MANSION**

Mark wakes up, confused and hungry. His body is still functioning on energy-saving mode, seeming not to have caught on to the fact that he’s not in mortal peril anymore. 

He checks the digital clock on his bed stand and groans. It’s almost five in the afternoon; the whole day pretty is much wasted. His stomach growls, and Mark reluctantly puts on an oversized robe and makes his way to the kitchen. 

He’s gotta say, nut-cases though they are, the Hargreeves keep a pretty well stocked kitchen. Mark hums to himself as he grabs three boxes of disgustingly sugary cereal and dumps them all into a bowl. He shakes it a bit to make sure the different bits are all mixed together, then freezes when he hears a small cough behind him.

He slowly turns to see a short brunette woman sitting at the table, and he scrambles to recall everything Klaus had said about his siblings. 

“You’re Vanya, right?”

She nods, looking at him strangely. Mark figures she’d already been filled in on everything, so he goes back to his cereal concoction, then he pauses and turns again. “Do you guys have a TV? I wanted to catch the fundraiser.

Vanya shakes her head. “No, sorry.”

Mark sits down a the kitchen table and starts to eat his cereal. Vanya pops a pill from a prescription medicine bottle, dry swallowing it. 

He figures she probably got her social skills from the same place as the rest of her dysfunctional family. 

“Hey, would you happen to know how my brother Luther’s doing?” she asks suddenly. 

Mark freezes. “Umm,” he says, thinking about how he debauched her virginal twunk brother in space “Fine?” his voice is a little higher pitched than normal.

Vanya just stares at him. He can't remember seeing her blink. 

“He’s definitely probably fine,” he says, making his voice deeper and more serious. “So, follow up question, where’s the closest bar with a TV?”

* * *

 

**SET, ROCKEFELLER CENTER**

Allison finds her mark and takes a deep breath. The director starts counting down until the cameras go live, and she plasters on her most charming smile, wanting to get this over with so she could get home and see Luther already. 

The music fades, and Allison launches into her spiel.  “Thanks out there to everyone tuning in! If you just turned on the channel, this fundraiser has been organized by the Society for Community Astronautical Movement. We need to raise the funds to save everyone’s beloved lost astronaut, Mark Watney.  Your donation can mean the difference in bring him home. I am Jennifer Allison Page, and I’m here to ask you to make your donations now.”

The screen behind her changes and she steps aside, holding out her hands to indicate the image behind her.   She smiles and waits a beat, glancing behind her to image shown.

There, in an image larger than life, is Luther’s face.  

Allison freezes. 

Is this a fucking joke? Is Ashton Kutcher going to jump out of somewhere and admit it’s a prank?  Allison catches movement out of the corner of her eye, and looks just off set to where the next bit is waiting to be introduced. She subtly turns her head to get a better look and-

Diego is there, dressed in a cop stripper uniform.

Allison sees red. 

* * *

“And here comes our latest donor!”

“You’re up,” says the terrifying production assistant, and shoves Diego off stage. He stumbles onto the set, almost losing his grip on the absurdly large check. 

Diego feels a bead of sweat form on the back of his neck. With this many people in the room, and the knowledge that millions more are probably watching him across the country, Diego feels smaller than he ever has. He has no idea how Allison stands it all. 

“The New York State Police Union is donating twenty thousand dollars to the fundraiser,” Allison is saying with an almost manic smile. She turns to him and gestures at him expansively. "Let's give it up for our men and women in blue." She starts clapping slowly.

“Thank you Officer Hargreeves for  representing the Union and bringing us this great donation.” 

Diego crosses the stage as instructed, then pauses briefly next to Allison, showing off the check to all the cameras. He tries to move offstage, but is stopped as Allison grabs his wrist and digs in her fingernails. 

She smiles even more broadly to the cameras. “And to all the other officers watching from home, here's a fun fact! My itty bitty brother Diego had a stutter until he was fourteen and he wet the bed until he was eleven. Or at least that's when he started doing his own laundry, so who can really say?”

What. The. Fuck. 

Allison smiles and places a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for stopping by, Diego. Next up, George Clooney will be stopping by with his very special pet.”

As soon as the set lights flick off, he yanks his hand out of her grip. 

“You’re dead,” he snaps as Allison stalks away. 

Allison pauses in her tracks and turns towards him with all the rage of a truly pissed off ex-superhero. “No,  _ you’re _ dead,” she snarls, “Why the fuck would you try to humiliate me on live television like that! How much is Ashton's show paying you? Is Luther even really hurt?”

Diego grits his teeth and tries to refrain from punching a wall. “This isn’t a prank, you bitch! This is a real, very  _ important _ fundraiser.” 

There’s a commotion in the wings, and Diego swears when he sees Captain Holt motioning for him to move along. 

He turns back to Allison and grits out “I have to go. Official police business. Just go home. We’ll talk about your little  _ stunt  _ later.” 

He runs off before Allison can say anything else and embarrass him further.

* * *

 

**HARGREEVES MANSION, NEW YORK.**

Patrick lets himself into the Academy with Allison’s key. It’s largely the same as he remembers from his brief stay before the wedding. Well, maybe a little dustier.

“Patrick! How wonderful to see you,” exclaims Grace, making a beeline for them from across the foyer, “and how is little Miss Claire?” 

“She’s excellent, Mrs. Hargreeves, thank you for asking. And thank you for opening your home to us.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Grace says, “You’re family.” With that, not even bothering to undo the buckles, she picks up Claire from her baby carrier, ripping the straps out from where they’re attached to the chair. 

“Oh, I- Um, I guess- okay” says Patrick, nonplussed, as Grace coos over Claire. He decides to move past it.  “Allison’s been panicked about Luther ever since the articles have come out. Is she home yet?”

Grace shakes her head, still smiling down at Claire. “No, Allison is still at the studio. Vanya and Mark Watney have left for the evening to watch the fundraiser at a bar, and of course Luther is still on Mars.”

Patrick frowns. “I’m sorry, I think I misheard you. Could you say that again?”

She does.

Patrick nods and says slowly “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company. Would it be better if we stayed in a hotel?”

Grace tilts her head curiously, a hint of menace in her eyes.  “Don’t even think of it! I’ve prepared a guest room; Allison’s room is a little small for three.

She leads the way up the staircase, ignoring Patrick’s motions to take the baby back. 

Patrick, who has never watched or read the news in his life, sighs and follows her.

* * *

 

**GREEN ROOM, ROCKEFELLER CENTER**

Klaus is doing his second line of coke of a strippers pectoral when he hears a knock at the door.  “Barry, do you want to get that?”

Barry, leaning over his own stripper and similar line of coke, looks up bewildered. “Now?”

“Well, I’m not going to get it,” says Ben from the arm of the sofa. 

The knocking continues, increasing in severity “Open up. This is Captain Holt of the NYPD. We have a search warrant.”

“Quick, empty your pockets and snorts what you can!” Klaus shrieks, and throws the contents of his pockets at the wall.

Barry takes off his jacket and throws it at the desk rather than try to rifle through his pockets. “Give us a minute,” he yells, “the lock is stuck. You can come in as soon as I figure it out.”

“Shit, Klaus, you forgot to lock the door!” Ben shouts, standing up and walking towards the door on instinct.

There’s a metallic noise and then the door opens. “It was unlocked.” The Captain says, walking  through Ben’s apparition, causing him to dissipate.

The strippers share a quick look and start pulling on their clothes as the police enter the room.  One of the officers look vaguely familiar. Too familiar. “Oh Diego,” Klaus says, holding his hands in the air. “Et tu?”

“You really fucked up this time,” Diego says unsympathetically. 

One of the other officers is saying something. His rights maybe? Klaus doesn’t pay them any attention. “Look, whatever you think I did, I didn’t do it!” he says desperately. 

“You wanna stick with that?” asks Diego, eyeing a silver platter of an assortment of syringes, pills, and powders on the desk. 

Captain Holt crosses his arms. “This is serious, Mr. Hargreeves. You’re looking at federal charges. If you want any hope of deal, you’re going to need to give up your boss.”

“Okay, I did help myself to the party favors, but I’m just a patsy,” Klaus whines, “I’m not even the Director in charge. That’s some person called....” he snaps his fingers and he can vaguely remember talking to Jack Donaghy, “Mister F! It’s Mister F behind this.”

“Actually-” Barry says, but Captain Holt cuts him off.

“We need a  _ real _ name. Not some shadowy figure for us to chase while you slip away.” 

“Actually,” Barry tries to say again, but this time Klaus interrupts him. 

“It’s Barry,” he says, pointing his finger dramatically, “J’accuse!” 

He can’t see Ben, but he doesn’t even need to be visible for Klaus to feel his disapproval like a physical thing. He feels a twinge of guilt, but shakes it off with practiced ease. He could go back to prison- and he's certainly not doing supermax for Barry. He'd be fine. Barry's only legally wanted in Sealand and that's not an extradition country. 

“Mister F is his pseudonym.  Barry set the whole thing up. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He leans towards his brother and makes his best guileless puppy dog eyes. “Diego, D. Big D. Please, you’ve got to help me.”

Diego pats Klaus on the back. “Listen, I’m sure we can get this all figured out. You just need to cooperate with us, ok?” 

Klaus nods contritely, then throws himself at the drug platter to get his mouth on as many pills as he can before they drag him off. A large officer catches him in almost midair before he can grab any, and he cries out in despair.

“Man, you need to eat more. I’ve lifted weights heavier than you,” says the Officer in shock. She flexes her guns to readjust her hold. Klaus is thoroughly impressed. Her bicep is bigger than Ben's head.

Klaus bats his eyes at her. “Tell me about it, stud.”

“Mr. Hargreeves,” Captain Holt interrupts, looking through a binder that someone must have put on the desk at some point, “You'll have your chance to tell us all about this Mr. F and his trans exclusionary feminist partner, unless you have something else you'd like to confess?” 

At Klaus’s blank look, he holds up the binder with the letters A. TERF written in 28 point font at the top of the page. 

Klaus has just enough time to stutter a denial before he’s being perp-walked out of the room and into the elevators 

And he didn’t even get the opportunity to the diamond heroin just like he wanted.

Fucking bastards. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a brutal hiatus for finals, we are back with this coked out disaster of a story. Enjoy.  
> \- ravenstag


End file.
